


the doctor is ill

by AnnCherie



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Bisexual Kyle Valenti, M/M, alex/michael mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 21:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19894738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnCherie/pseuds/AnnCherie
Summary: Alex was ready to leave Roswell and never look back. There were multiple Air Force bases he could leave for, but he had stalled. Maybe for Michael. Maybe for helping Liz and Rosa. Mainly to destroy his father’s attempt at a legacy of torture, murder, and fanatacism.And Kyle Valenti had helped him through all of it over the past few months.(Kyle is sick, Alex helps)





	the doctor is ill

Alex Manes tried not to think about a lot of things lately, repressing more and more confusion and emotions than he probably should. Having a father hospitalized in coma due to him attempting murder (after  _ actually _ having murdered his victim’s father) was hard enough. On top of that he had a friend who had been magically brought back to life by an alien, a best friend who was trying to stop her grief over her alien boyfriend dying for her sister, and then, most of all, he had an ex- _ something _ alien cowboy who had left him for his best friend.

All in all, Alex was ready to leave Roswell and never look back. There were multiple Air Force bases he could leave for, but he had stalled. Maybe for Michael. Maybe for helping Liz and Rosa. Mainly to destroy his father’s attempt at a legacy of torture, murder, and fanatacism. 

And Kyle Valenti had helped him through all of it over the past few months. 

At first things had been prickly, then slowly better and better, and after the catastrophe of Kyle being shot and the intense scrambling to create a cover story they had all but fallen back into their original dynamic. A team.

Which meant that Alex, who tried very hard not to notice things about people anymore, still noticed the way that Kyle’s eyes had bags under them the past few weeks and had seemed to lose the very little weight he had that wasn’t muscle. Now, while they poured over seventy years of studies on aliens, Kyle was also coughing and looking pale. He could pretend he didn’t notice, of course. Let the doctor handle himself. 

Unfortunately his worry got the best of him. “Are you sick, Valenti?”

Kyle startled a little at the break of silence, looking a little slow to the take before he put on a fake smirk and confidently replied, “Doctor's don't get sick.”

_ Of course. _ “…As a doctor you should know that's incorrect.”

All he got in return to that was Kyle shaking his head. “I've been exposed to everything under the sun. My immune system is iron.”

The bravado that was being put forth made Alex want to roll his eyes, but instead he replied. “Your immune system is compromised. You sleep what, three hours a night lately?”

Now his face turned serious, bordering on threatening. “I'm fine.”

“You need some rest.”

“And what, be a resting target? I'm fine.”

Alex froze, unsure what to do with the implication that Kyle no longer felt safe alone. Of course any logical person wouldn’t in Roswell, especially someone who had attacked the father of three very angry war hero sons. Afraid to think further about how this was his fault for dragging Kyle further into things, Alex didn't push further. 

Kyle started throwing up two hours later.

“Come on.” Alex told him firmly, shutting off every computer monitor in one combination stroke of keys so Kyle can’t fight him. “I'm taking you home.”

“Alex.” he grumbled angrily, trying to be stubborn. He had stopped the habit of referring to him as “Manes” after everything had gone down, and Alex had tried to ignore the twinge of intimacy that brought back.

“I'll be your bodyguard for the night.” Alex told him, not condescendingly. “But I want our bunker to be sterile and not the breeding ground for your flu.” 

Of course he got a rather severe glare in return, but Kyle did resentfully follow. Alex grabbed a trash bin, that proved useful during the twenty minute ride back into town and Kyle’s house.

“Hey, least i don't have to hold your hair back like Liz or Maria,” he teased, trying to make sure that the doctor was still coherent.

Kyle moaned into the bin.

When they finally get to his apartment it took a minute for Kyle to unlock things, including the security system that seems new, but when they finally got in Alex was left to shut the door while Kyle made a beeline for the bathroom. He came back out a good fifteen minutes later looking just as bad but chugging a good four ounces out of a bottle of Nyquil.

“Whoa, okay there,” Alex said, slightly worried that he should take the bottle away even if Kyle would know what he was doing way more than Alex would. “Don't think it will cure you if you chug.”

“Of course not,” Kyle responded after dropping the bottle. “10% alcohol though.”

Alex couldn't help but smile a bit at that, shaking his head. “I'll grab a beer from your fridge then, make it even.”

Kyle gestured vaguely toward the kitchen, instead going down the hallway to what Alex assumed was his room. It was weird, being in the space of adult Kyle. Part of him wished that Kyle lived with his mother so he wouldn’t have to be doing this, but also so that the awkward feeling of seeing a new side to an already new Kyle wouldn’t be knocking down on him.

The overall western feeling to the tone in wood flooring and stone countertops of the kitchen doesn’t make Alex miss the fact that everything is very, very  _ clean _ for a bachelor. Opening the fridge, all he found were fresh vegetables, fruit, and nothing pre-packaged or left over. More to himself, he still couldn't help but say, “God, you're weird now, Valenti. You live like some instagram model.”

There wasn't a response, so Alex grabbed the one beer in the fridge door, and came back out and into Kyle’s bedroom with cold wet towel as well. Still completely clothed and not having removed one blanket, Kyle was lying face up on the bed. Alex would rather not admit it, but he was almost getting worried, at least until he proffered the towel and Kyle grabbed it.

Alex leaned against the night stand, still standing a foot away, and sipped on his beer. 

Kyle groaned, moving the towel not more than two minutes later, and Alex touched it to see it was now hot. "You sure you don’t want to go see a coworker?"

"Fever is good,” Kyle argued weakly. “Fever means fighting off sickness.”

_ Or burning brain cells _ , he sighs, but left to replace the towel. This time on the way back he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge as well. After he opened it and gave it to Kyle, replacing the towel, he sat on the end of the bed.

“Why are you being nice to me?”

Since there wasn’t guarded hostility in his voice, like there had been months ago, Alex decided to give a vague answer. “My family has been putting you through the ringer.” 

“Still.”

Kyle wasn't moving very much, other than to groan. The water bottle was only half touched after it seemed to have threatened another stomach turn out of the man. Alex gave in to a kind statement. “You've been there for me the past few months.”

“Not enough.” he replied, sitting up for a tiny second only to decide on lying back down against his pillow, his eyes mostly closed. Groggily, but with emotion still, he went on. “I’m sorry, Alex. For everything. For high school and your dad and Guerin and loving you--,”

“What?” Alex interrupted, all too quickly standing up from the bed and moving toward Kyle’s dresser behind him. 

Kyle only repeated himself, clearly not noticing. “Sorry for everything.”

It really wasn’t ethical to continue the conversation when his former best friend wasn’t coherent and instead clearly all but dying of the flu. What  _ was _ ethical in Roswell anymore, Alex wasn’t sure. Guiltily, he prodded. “Including loving me how exactly?”

He doesn’t like how his own voice cracks with insecurity, but Kyle doesn’t notice. “Selfishly. I know I don't get to, but--” Coughing, the all too pretty words stop before Alex tells him to.

Not expecting to be heard, he weakly said, “Maybe I should call Liz if you're sick enough to say you love me.”

“I’m just a coward, Manes.” Kyle said. His eyes were definitely closed now, instead of the fluttering they’d been doing, and this is starting to be a worse idea than Alex had expected. “Always been in love with you. Always been a selfish coward.”

Swallowing the nervous lump in his throat, he barely replied “I’m gonna replace this. Drink more.”

Alex wished there was some deniability here. Surely there was, right? But Kyle had mentioned Guerin, he had said “Manes”, he clearly was talking  _ at _ Alex even if he was far too sick to realize exactly what he was saying. 

Which was infuriating, because how the hell was he supposed to yell at Kyle when the man was drunk off of Nyquil, head deep in a trash bin vomiting, and sweating through a fever?

He debated yelling anyway.

Instead he went back with a towel to see that Kyle is sleeping now. Alex groaned, swore a few times at his sense of responsibility, and took Kyle’s shoes and socks off. Despite what is clearly sleep, Kyle started undressing further, reminding Alex of how used to being tired the man must be. Sixteen hour shifts with blood all over him at the end sounded all too familiar to Alex, even if one experienced it in a hospital and him on the streets of Baghdad.

With the brief memory of war, Alex took the good excuse to be away from a stripping doctor and stepped out and did perimeter walk. Idly, he checked the security system for its efficiency, observed all windows and exit points. While his brothers hadn’t made a strike yet, it wouldn’t be unlike them to wait until they were less suspect before they went after Kyle. He went back to the bedroom hesitantly at the thought, glad that Kyle still had boxers on (as well as a shirt that was caught hanging off one bicep), splayed out on the bed and now snoring loudly.

Everything in him told him to just leave. Kyle had a security system. Alex had an out. 

He stole a pillow after a moment’s debate and rolled it against his neck to sleep against the wall for old time’s sake. He had promised to guard.

* * *

Alex woke up to the smell of breakfast food and the view of an empty bed. Getting up took a lot longer than he wanted; having slept against the wall with his prosthetic still on had been a mistake. Pain weighed more currently on his mind until he walked into Kyle’s kitchen to see him fully dressed and almost cheery as he cooked.

“You're back to normal?” he asked, an undercurrent of anger clear in his voice. “Just like that?”

“Immune system of iron,” Kyle said, looking unable to help himself. Turning serious, he turned off his stove burner and apologized. “Hey sorry, man, you didn't have to watch over me like that.”

“I understand the fear.” Alex said shortly. With Kyle’s wary look, he realized he hadn’t been clear enough. Maybe Kyle had remembered everything said last night, or maybe he hadn’t. “The aftermath of being shot at.”

Kyle stayed quiet, standing over the skillet, and wordlessly offered the egg scramble.

Honestly, Alex should go. He knew this. If he wanted them to stay friends, he would. But hesitantly he agreed to breakfast instead. 

The cooking wasn't that great, which does relieve him a little in a vindictive way. With how much Kyle had changed, he would have been pissed if 'chef' was added to his overall now perfect image.

Clearly, Kyle hadn’t even made breakfast for himself anyway from the looks of his untouched plate. Uncomfortably, the man looked up. “I promise I'm not going to revert back to sickness if you blink.”

“That's not it.” Alex said.

“Ah,” Kyle replied, looking a little pale again. “So it wasn't a weird fever dream.”

Alex found himself tensing. Was it anger coming back up? “Confessing your feelings? No.”

“On second thought, I'm definitely still sick. Please go and leave me to die this time.”

“Kyle.”

The doctor’s hands went up to stop the conversation, necessary since he wouldn’t come close to meeting Alex’s eyes, instead staring at cold eggs with a tight jaw. “I would never have put that on you if i was coherent.”

“Put that on me?” Alex couldn’t help but ask, both offended and caught off guard.

Still not meeting eyes, Kyle continued in a rant like fashion as if Alex hadn’t even spoke. “It's not your responsibility to deal with my feelings, it's mine.”

Alex’s eyebrows rose. “Responsibility?”

“Telling you puts you in a shitty position you don't deserve and--,” 

“ _ Valenti _ .” Alex cut through. Kyle startled finally and stopped, brows furrowed and dark eyes definitively troubled. “So you were just going to keep that bottled up until you died?”

Kyle coughed. “Pretty much.”

They sat in silence for a second, but only that, because before Kyle could continue his nervous backtracking, Alex stumbled into realization. Surprising himself a little, he admitted, “You were my first crush.”

Kyle shook his head, looking away again. “Don't, you don't have to. I know Guerin--”

“This conversation isn't about him.” Alex cut across again. Kyle paused. “You were my first crush. I felt so crazy thinking there was  _ something _ , and then high school happened on top of it. And I know why you didn't tell me, I grew up in this town too. But I wish you had.”

“Back then,” Kyle said with dejection, having listened to him aptly only to give up.

“I didn't say that.”

For the first time since they’ve become friendly again, they stare at each other over something that isn’t alien related. Before it can sink in how maybe that barrier had led to this, Alex kisses him and Kyle kisses back, fervent, before pulling back. “It hasn't been a full 24 hours for contagion--”

“If I get sick you're a doctor,” Alex huffed and shut him up again. The strangeness to kissing Kyle of all people didn't get past him, in fact halfway through the part where the dining table and chairs were starting to become a cumbersome barrier stopping them from doing more than kissing, Alex pulled back. Kyle all but froze, as if he was terrified that Alex might take everything back. He wasn't about to, but he can't help but say, "Not how I imagined this going."

Kyle raised an eyebrow. "What did you picture?" 

"Well I would have had two legs, for starters." Alex deadpanned. Nerves brought out his sarcasm every time. 

Kyle pursed his lips, looking away with a cocktail of frustration and insecurity, and Alex huffed. "Honestly, Valenti, I meant I thought I would have said something first. Cue first time in a treehouse story."

A pleasant laugh escaped him, the kind that reminded Alex how much Kyle had styled into himself with grace. 

Well, grace mixed with, "You know, doctors used to prescribe orgasms as a cure all before modern medicine." 

There it was, the same flirty deflection as always. Alex surprised himself with his own laugh. The general bizarrity of having Kyle Valenti ask him for sex was too much. "A shame you have an iron immune system."

"Do I? I think I'm feeling a fever come on again."

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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